


A Coffee to Go

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 22:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17191529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: Sheith Secret Santa gift forDarby!Hope you enjoy this!«“Good Lord, Shiro!” Allura scolded, patience running thinner than a strand of her impossibly silver hair, “If you want a damn coffee so bad, go get one! I have my drink right here,” she gestured to the steaming mug of hot chocolate before her for emphasis, mentally contemplating throwing it at Shiro’s face but refraining from doing so for deeming it a waste of a perfectly good cocoa. “And I’m trying to enjoy it in peace! Without your hopeless pining!”»--Keith works at a coffee shop. Shiro has a crush.





	A Coffee to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [50_points_for_ravenclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/50_points_for_ravenclaw/gifts).



> Special thanks to my man [Kumatt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumatt/pseuds/kumatt) & [Zeynon!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeynon) Without you guys, this fic would never be finished. You both boosted me through it! Thank you a million stars!!! <3

Takashi Shirogane was a grown ass man.

 

In the Autumn of his fifth and final year at Garrison U, he sat in the corner booth at _ Brews of Marmora’s _ , a spot in the coffee shop that ought to have his name carved on it because that was were he always sat, leg restlessly bouncing under the table, fingers drumming on the dark chrome surface. There was no cup of coffee before him, not just yet, but the scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice latte made his stomach beg with a rumble for something warm.

 

Takashi Shirogane, a rising sensation nationwide in the field of Astrophysics, with a stellar academic performance in every subject and a spotless record; a student with a more than promising future ahead of him. The metal of his prosthetic glistened under the warm light of the busy establishment, the lazy glow of a late afternoon giving him the aura of someone who had everything under control.

 

But Allura, trusty colleague and arguably acclaimed best friend of the surreal disaster that was Takashi Shirogane, would only appreciate if he behaved as the grown ass man he appeared to be.

 

“‘Lura, _ please _ ,” he begged again, his large hand resting over her smaller, more delicate one; the most promising student to come out of the Garrison in the last decade, actually begging. “Do this for me!”

 

“Good Lord, Shiro!” Allura scolded, patience running thinner than a strand of her impossibly silver hair, “If you want a damn coffee so bad, go get one! I have my drink right here,” she gestured to the steaming mug of hot chocolate before her for emphasis, mentally contemplating throwing it at Shiro’s face but refraining from doing so for deeming it a waste of a perfectly good cocoa. “And I’m trying to enjoy it in  _ peace _ ! Without your hopeless pining!”

 

“No, you don’t understand--”

 

Once she was done with the longest gulp of hot cocoa in her life, throat burning pleasantly, she banged the cup down on the table and sighed contently before proceeding. “That’s where you’re wrong, you dumb idiot, I see exactly what’s happening here, all too clearly.”

 

Shiro recoiled on his seat like a puppy who had been kicked to the side and the girl rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Takashi Shirogane was a brilliant young man, but for Goodness’ sake, he was bloody  _ gross _ when he had a crush.

 

“Tell you what.” Allura pulled two coins out of her pouch, and tossed them over the table. “Your sweetheart should be coming over eventually to clean the table and get the money, so you can ask him out on a date, how about that?”

 

“What?!”

 

Now, if Allura were to be one hundred percent honest, she did find a hint of amusement in seeing Shiro’s face break in panic. His skin tone became pale, his lower lip trembling slightly, eyes wide and terrified. He stuttered, screaming in as loud as a whisper allowed, “ _ Out? _ Out, like where? To  _ Marmora’s _ ?!” He reached for her hand, squeezing it for emphasis, “He works here, Allura, this is the only good place in town--”

 

“Certainly there are...  _ other _ romantic locations in Daibazaal?” Allura attempted, voice cracking in a giggle she hid behind her hand.

 

There weren’t that many places, really. Daibazaal was a large desert town, aside the ruckus that came with freshmen entering college, there was hardly anything happening.

 

“ _ Yes, hello, I think you’re cute, let’s go on a date to the Kral Zera! I’m sure you’re the type of man who’d have tons of fun in a political museum! _ ” Shiro mocked the scenario, feeling ridiculous for even considering Allura’s suggestion. A date? With a pretty barista? It had been so long since he even attempted to flirt, let alone  _ date _ . It made him feel ridiculous.

 

_ Was he even prepared for that? _

 

“Don’t fret, Shiro. You’ll nibble your fingers away if you keep biting your nails like that!” she playfully slapped his hand away. “How about the tea shop, next block? I went there with Lance the other week! Plaxum’s biscuits are just marvelous!”

 

A change from  _ Marmora’s _ minimal and dark futuristic decor of charcoal grays and elegant violet assets would be more than welcome; but such a radical change to a traditional establishment decorated in pastel pinks and yellows, ancient Victorian teacups, pastries that looked pretty rather than delicious, old ladies with clothing made of living animals sharing their weekly absurd palaver and gossip… Yeah, uh, that wouldn’t work.

 

“He works in a coffee shop, I’m sure he’d love to go for some tea and biscuits.” Shiro groaned and buried his face on his palms, one warm, of flesh, and the other of a cold metallic feel. The dormant memory of the accident only gave him another reason to be worried. “I don’t even know if he would be okay with...  _ you know _ . I don’t want to be a creeper.”

 

Allura smiled tenderly, knowingly. Her hand came to rest on the side of Shiro’s face. “Only one way to find out, darling. I’m sure Keith would love to hang out with you. Don’t be so quick to make assumptions.”

 

He didn’t want to, he knew it was wrong to decide beforehand how Keith would interpret his approach. Shiro knew, better than anyone, what it was like to have someone else deciding what he was feeling without consulting him first: that had been the final drop of water in the overflowing glass of his last relationship. That had been so long ago, he realized.  _ Just before the accident. _

 

But how could he not? Takashi Shirogane, local mess of a man, was in love with a young boy from Daibazaal, when the only exchange of words they had had was in the basics of, “welcome, what can I get you?” and “that’ll be ten sickles, thank you and come again”. How sinister would it be to be asked out by a Garrison U senior with a fake limb, nasty scar across the nose and trauma-induced white streak of hair? He flexed his mechanical fingers, artificial hinges silent, smooth in their movement.

 

Perhaps one day he could ask Keith out… When he didn’t hate himself so much.

 

Allura finished her drink, licking her lips to taste the last of the chocolate. “Alright, I have to get everything ready for the welcoming party in the sorority.” She wiggled her brows as she got up, patting her tight skinny jeans clean as if they weren’t already.

 

“You ladies keep it down, yeah? Even if this is only the first week, curfew is already in full effect,” Shiro warned in a playful authoritarian tone, winking at the girl before she turned on her heel and dodged one of the waiters - Ulaz, the name tag read - with a tray, on her way to the exit.

 

There was a certain relief in the white noise around him; the radio in a low volume and the soft distant voices seemed to smother down the thunder in his heart when Keith came by to collect the empty mug and the scattered coins.

 

“Can I get you anything?” he had asked as he cleaned the surface of the table on Allura’s side with a wet cloth, taking the few crumbs from the cookie she had had before Shiro arrived with one sweep.

 

“I’m fine for now, thank you,” Shiro had replied; and just barely too, his voice cracking in weird places. Having Keith close did that to him. He wanted to know more about the mysterious barista with an unamused, almost theatrical smile; maybe ask his name because he only knew it from the name tag on the left side of his shirt and that felt like some sort of disservice to who Keith was.

 

Or who he assumed he was. And there he went assuming again.

 

“Waitin’ for someone?” Keith teased and Shiro’s heart stopped mid-beat. 

 

It took a while to reset his heart’s functions, as well as to remind his lungs that he needed to breathe in order to survive, but Shiro found the strength to shake his head negatively and mutter another shaky “thank you” before Keith turned his back.

 

Why did he always make such a fool of himself, he mentally castigated, running the fingers of his mechanical hand through strands of bi-colored hair.

 

Just him and the books before him now. He would have thought being alone would help him ground himself and reestablish full control over his own mind, but his thoughts drifted along with the passage of time from a muddy afternoon into a warm evening. There was absolutely no need for Shiro to dig so deep into his books this early in the semester, but in fact he wasn’t too interested in his Calculus notes; his eyes drifted from the numbers to the counter - to Keith - more often than not. It was more of a lie he prefered to tell himself, a false reason to keep him sitting in that particular spot on a Thursday afternoon instead of being elsewhere.

 

Where else could he want to be, if not where his heart had guided him to? His addiction demanded coffee but his soul asked him for something more, something he could only obtain if he dared to indulge in a longer-than-four-sentences-long-conversation with the barista. It was a work in progress, he would get there eventually.

 

Their eyes met, Keith behind the counter to receive the payment for a coffee to go, and he just dumbly stared until he realized he should probably look away before he made it more awkward for the both of them. 

 

For the skeptical and logical man Shiro was - a man of science - he got a little too enthralled in the dark empyrean magic of Keith’s eyes. He was known to tackle down any advanced Cosmology thesis, master Theoretical Physics and excel in Quantum Field Theory, but the amount of fascination he held for a spell cast upon him by nothing but a glance was pitiful to say the least.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until he got stuck on a particularly difficult derivative that he may actually have convinced any stranger that he was studying. The focus on the problem didn’t last long however, when a styrofoam cup was set before him.

 

He hadn’t ordered a beverage, was this a mistake? The wrong table? He frowned at the cup and glanced at the counter just in time to see the barista glancing over his shoulder and winking his way, a hint of a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “For you,” his lips read, though no audible words left them.

 

_ W-wow. _

 

The smokey scent of roasted coffee beans filled his nostrils from the cup in his hand, the purest, boldest drink in their menu. That was his usual order, French Roast; how had Keith known?

 

Rather, if anyone would know, it would definitely be Keith. There were times when Shiro could actually speak and order his drink to go like any normal person would, but he was a little touched that the barista had his order memorized. If he knew his favorite drink, would he also know his name to see? He looked down, expecting to find his name written on the paper wrap,  _ à la Starbucks _ .

 

Except that wasn’t his name on the cup. Instead a succession of what could be a bunch of random numbers but suspiciously seemed like a phone number was written down with a black marker, followed by a cute quick doodle of a frowny character with his hair pulled up in a pineapple bun and a pout for a mouth.

 

_ Was that… Keith’s number…? _

 

Shiro pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, started the messaging app and tentatively typed:  **_Are you for real?_ **

 

The message was  _ sent _ .

 

_ Delivered. _

 

From across the establishment, he saw Keith sneakily pick up his phone and smile down at the text, slim fingers dancing over the QWERTY keyboard. 

 

_ Seen _ .

 

So that  _ was _ his number, and not some prank; good to know, Shiro mused.

 

Keith was forced to put the device away when Kolivan (a terrifying man Shiro came to know as the manager of  _ Marmora’s _ ) cleared his voice from behind his employee. Shiro chuckled at that sight, the smile remaining on his face as Keith resumed his task of stacking up the comical amount of disposable styrofoam cups in towers next to the coffee grinder. The phone in Shiro’s hand vibrated with a slight delay, and the first sip of the offered coffee tasting less bitter than earthy, unsweetened coffee ought to thanks to what he read on the screen of his smartphone:

 

**_Sunday. Pick me up at six._ **


End file.
